


Night is for the victors

by Liaeling



Series: Into the Ends of the World [3]
Category: Alexander (2004), Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault, Ancient History RPF, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Dancing with the Lion - Jeanne Reames, Historical RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28308252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liaeling/pseuds/Liaeling
Summary: "The screams of the wounded, the pale eyes of the dead, and the choking dirt up their mouths were too close in time and space for them to want anything else but one another. Tonight, they were each other’s safe space."
Relationships: Alexandros III of Macedon | Alexander the Great & Hephaistion of Macedon, Alexandros III of Macedon | Alexander the Great/Hephaistion of Macedon
Series: Into the Ends of the World [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061774
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	Night is for the victors

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas (for those who celebrate). For those reading in the future, this is the 2020 CoronaChristmas, quite a historical one. So I felt like gifting you all some smut. We all need it.
> 
> Once more (in case you're reading this without reading the others in the series), these characters are closer to the 'Dancing with the Lion' versions thant to the 'Mary Renault' or 'Alexander (2004)' versions.

He felt a finger draw circles down his back, softly traveling in a diagonal line, ending on his Apollo’s belt, that tender skin close yet not too close to his reason for short breath.

Outside the inner Royal Chamber, couches lay deserted, cups scattered between empty plates. The Victory Banquet had been a success, and most men had disappeared into their own shared tents to enjoy the gifts that night brought to all soldiers: in its majority, camp women. Alexander’s army were granted little time between sieges and marches, but they had now earned their rest and pleasure. They had won the first major battle against the Persian King, a feat the history books would record for centuries to come. This was their battle of Marathon, but in Persian soil. They made the Persian King flee. Tonight, all men in camp thought themselves heroes, if not gods.

And inside the Royal Tent they had captured, Hephaestion thought himself luckier than all the Greek mythical heroes. Yes, he had shared the success of the battle with his fellow countrymen, but they could never share the success of  _ this _ bed.

Alexander fidgeted under him, now fully gripping his Apollo’s belt instead of just tracing it from below. He sighed softly, head thrown backward, long hair spilling beyond the end of the sumptuous Royal Bed. Hephaestion pushed himself on one elbow and reached towards that shining hair, taking a reddish strand and twisting it around to see how the low light brought out the pale blonde tints in it. How he loved the color.

“Why… why did you stop?” Alexander said under him, writhing against him. He was gripping his shoulder with one hand, the other had finally made it past his Apollo’s belt and held both their members in a soft grip. 

Hephaestion had been playing a slow game for some time, making Alexander’s fair skin blush all over, bringing out the freckles across and down his chest. He loved taking his time, enjoying more the proximity than the actual release. There was something simple and primal about lying close to Alexander, blushing skin against blushing skin. For all the blood and sweat he shed for him, he only needed some warmth in return. 

But now, after all his teasing, his King was demanding. He chuckled as he thought this in the same moment Alexander brushed his thumb across their member’s heads.

“I did not stop, you simply became hurried,” Hephaestion whispered, breaking his analysis of Alexander’s colored-hair and dropping his head into the curve of Alexander’s neck. He pulled the hair softly, eliciting a low moan from the man under him.

Alexander was now stroking up and down, trying to get a proper grip around them both. He had small hands, but he was dexterous. He had pushed his middle finger between his members as he gripped around with the other fingers, attacking all soft spots as thoroughly as he could. For all his hesitation and restrain, Hephaestion knew he loved giving him pleasure, maybe even more than he enjoyed pleasure himself.

Hephaestion growled playfully as Alexander’s hand slipped slightly. He may have used too much oil this time. 

At his growl, Alexander pushed his hips up, left leg quickly finding his way around his waist. Hephaestion pulled on the reddish hair harder, slowly kissing the neck he was buried into.

“Keep… this up and I will… oh, Zeus, don’t bite my neck or I’ll come…” Alexander started, hand picking up speed as Hephaestion bit his neck, “And I will make you a Bodyguard.”

Hephaestion chuckled, slowly making his way up his neck and releasing the hair. He kissed him deeply as he gripped Alexander’s other leg and pulled it up and around his waist, enjoying the shift in position. The man under him sighed against his lips, right hand slowing down again while his left hand gripped the back of Hephaestion’s neck and pulled him down into a deeper kiss. 

Some nights they liked looking into each other’s eyes, some others they prefered to never look into each other’s faces. But this night, they wanted to  _ feel _ more.

The screams of the wounded, the pale eyes of the dead and the choking dirt up their mouths were too close in time and space for them to want anything else but one another. Tonight, they were each other’s safe space. 

They were  _ alive _ . They had prevailed.

This wasn’t about the pleasure, not even about the erotic aspect of their love. This was more about their fears being vanquished than about the defeated Persians. 

They could have _died_ , both of them. Or even worse, only one could have died, while the other survived. The mere thought of such a cruel Fate was reason enough for them to envelop each other until the rise of dawn.

Hephaestion broke the kiss, letting his lips find their way close to Alexander’s right ear. 

“You… close?” he whispered. All expressions were now monosyllabic in the midst of his release. He didn’t dare open his eyes to look at Alexander. If he saw him biting his lip, as he was prone to do while in deep pleasure, he might finish in a second.

“Me… close,” Alexander whispered back, impishly. His hand around their members was now quick and sure, knowing full well their preferred pace. Hephaestion began moaning into his ear, not caring if Darius’ himself heard across the emptiness. 

Alexander was masterfully working them, he was now pushing his hips up rhythmically too, making the friction of members and fingers mix artfully. Hephaestion’s right hand had found his way back into Alexander’s hair, fingers deep into that saffron-smelling mass of curls. Alexander had let one of his legs fall from around his waist, foot pushing down into the bed next to his lover’s hip. Hephaestion’s left hand was now lightly stroking up and down that raised inner thigh, making sure to dip now and then into the crook behind Alexander’s knee. He knew that was one of his pleasure points. 

“Me… almost there,” Hephaestion whispered into his ear between moans and sighs. If only Alexander…

But before he could finish that thought, he felt Alexander’s back curve and rise slightly from the bed, breath catching in a shaky inward breath as his hand paused in its movement. Hephaestion was about to protest for the lack of friction, but was again cut short.

“Me… there,” Alexander whispered in his ear, lips hastily finding Hephaestion’s earlobe and biting down…  _ really hard _ .

Hephaestion felt his body drop, like he was free falling down a cliff. He felt his upper leg muscles contract and release in the same moment he heard Alexander scream loudly enough for the whole camp to hear.

He was quivering all over but not moving an inch, skin burning and sensible to every movement of the writhing body under him. If Hephaestion froze in pleasure, Alexander burned. 

Often enough in the past, Hephaestion had to physically extricate himself away from Alexander after culminating their love making, being too sensitive to touch immediately after it. But this time around he wanted his skin to ache with his lover’s scorching fire. Alexander’s leg around him felt like a death grip, both his hands were now digging into his back like hooks. Hephaestion pushed himself slightly up, still shaking all over, to look down into his lover’s face.

Alexander was still sputtering his release into his belly, Hephaestion having won the race some moments before. He had his eyes shut, eyelids tightly closed. His mouth was open, tongue slightly raised, tip pushing against the back of his upper teeth between labored breaths. His fair skin was flushed scarlet red, the freckles on his nose barely visible. He was practically perfect to Hephaestion as he let some unusually high-pitched moans escape his lips. His deep baritone voice was for the world, but he had  _ this _ all to himself.

Hephaestion let his head fall back again into the crook of his neck, his own breath catching between tightly clenched teeth. He loved to hear Alexander’s vocal pleasure, but he didn’t like to vocalize pleasure or pain himself. He preferred to  _ work _ for it.

It was only a couple of minutes later than he felt more than heard Alexander chuckle under him, chest vibrating against his own.

“What’s so funny, pomegranate head?” whispered Hephaestion, too tired now to raise his head or move. He had to eventually, he was heavier and taller than Alexander. If he stayed where he was, he would have to come up with a plausible excuse to explain away a dead cum-covered King.

“I made you come all over me, grumpy old man,” he whispered back, voice full of jest.

Hephaestion snorted into his neck, unsure how funny he would find those words tomorrow, after the whole camp looked at him knowingly. Alexander had shouted in a voice full of pleasure while Hephaestion's bed in his shared tent stayed cold through the night. There was no explaining away  _ that  _ particular event _. _

“The earlobe bite was a fine touch,” Hephaestion mumbled, hearing the first day birds twittering somewhere. Great. He was getting all he wanted except sleep.

“The earlobe bite was the  _ final _ touch,” Alexander whispered back, both hands finding their way into Hephaestion’s hair and beginning to slowly caress his skull.

“Mmmh… Keep this up and I will make you my Page,” he said, closing his eyes and enjoying the touch.

Alexander laughed loudly under him, one of his hands finding his left earlobe and pulling playfully.

“Don’t. Still too sensitive… I mean it, keep it up and you’ll be drawing my bath next.”

They fell to silence after that, content to finally allow themselves more than friction.  _ This  _ silence was what they truly wanted all along. The sexual release was welcome but what came after was what really mattered to them. The nearness of their bodies allowed for a different kind of talk, the decreased beating in their chest brought for them a freedom they weren’t allowed outside the innermost chamber of the tent.

Hephaestion slowly moved his body away from Alexander’s, releasing the King from his crushing weight on top of him. He pushed himself into his side, letting Alexander shift too until they were face-to-face, legs still intertwined. His lover pushed his palms into his chest as Hephaestion found a way to lock an arm under his neck to hug him closer with both arms. When they finally found the right position, Alexander sighed contentedly.

“I meant what I said, you know,” the redheaded man whispered, transparent eyes locking into dark ones. 

“I meant it, too. You would be a great Page,” Hephaestion whispered back, face serious.

Alexander slapped his chest with a hand, smiling softly at him. Hephaestion chuckled. He would never admit it, but being served by his King was a lifetime wish of his. Imagine him helping him dress… no, never mind, he did that sometimes. Imagine him feeding him straight into his mouth…

“Stop fantasizing about me, you pervert! I’m right here and, may I remind you, we just came into each other’s bellies?” the King said, faking offense. 

“I don’t have to fantasize, you are totally cleaning my belly with your tongue later, Page,” said Hephaestion matter-of-factly, raising his eyebrows in a mocking gesture.

“You…” Alexander started, eyes narrowing in a mock-dangerous way, “I am never making you Bodyguard, you disrespectful maniac.”

“I will always guard your behind, my King. I don’t need the highest rank for that,” he stated, rolling his eyes.

Alexander finally broke and hid his face in Hephaestion’s chest, laughing loudly and tickling his lover in the process. Hephaestion held the back of his neck tightly and pulled him up, meeting him in a kiss that started playful between chuckles and ended slow and sensual. When they finally broke apart, they were both a little redder on the cheeks than before.

“No, but seriously,” whispered Alexander, voice dropping in a serious manner, “you deserve a proper rank. We are not about to continue south into the Levant with you fighting among others.”

Hephaestion was about to retort, feeling indignant at the mere idea of him getting rank through the King’s bed. He did not think that, but he knew everyone would think that. But before he could begin to cut Alexander short, the King raised one hand and covered his mouth with it.

_ Now _ he was indignant.

“Shush, don’t contradict me in this, love. Let me explain this, I need you to understand.”

Hephaestion rolled his eyes, mouth still covered by the rather smallish and square hand of his lover. He nodded, swallowing his pride for once. Alexander slowly let his hand drop, finding its way into Hephaestion’s neck and slowly caressing across his clavicle.

He knew that was one of his weak spots. Despot.

“I know you are capable of so much, yet you shy away from it,” he started, looking deeply into him, disarming him entirely, “You always say you want to protect me. Well, I want to protect  _ you,  _ too. The best way for me to protect you is by keeping you as close as I can, but the closeness comes with a contradiction.”

“I can deal with contradiction,” Hephaestion whispered, immediately quieting after Alexander raised his eyebrows at him.

“The closer you stay to me...” he started, pausing and taking a deep shaky breath. He suddenly looked afraid to continue, some deep pain inside him had left its cage. Hephaestion pulled him closer, wanting to contain that pain and push it back into a corner. Alexander smiled sadly at him, “The closer you stay, the more visible a target you’ll be.”

Hephaestion snorted, rolling his eyes. Sometimes Alexander could be so naive. He wanted him as his Bodyguard, the highest rank he could give, but he didn’t want anyone else to harm him. Like that wasn’t already an issue. Everyone in the army knew who he was, and what he was to the King. A title would not change that. But if Alexander gave him the opportunity to prove himself, the title could mean something… to _him_.

“I know that, Alexander. I’ve known that since the day I met you,” he stated, breathing out loudly. “I am capable of doing many things but only if you  _ let _ me do them.”

Alexander opened his mouth, about to retort, but Hephaestion raised his hand and covered his mouth. A blow for a blow. Alexander’s eyes widened.

“Shush, just listen,” he said, closing the space between them and kissing his brow only to draw back quickly, “Set me a hard task, the hardest you can find, and I will work my ass off to give you what you need. And only after that, talk to me about titles. I will not accept something I haven’t worked for simply because you want to protect me. The only way for you to actually protect me… and  _ love _ me in the right way...” he paused, making sure Alexander was listening, “is by letting me win my rank, like anyone else would.”

Transparent eyes drilled into his, unblinking. Hephaestion lowered his hand, glad he had chosen words that appeared to have penetrated into the King’s thick skull. Sometimes it was hard to make Alexander understand. Hephaestion lacked the verbosity of a proper rhetorician, but he could express in a few words what many rhetoricians took weeks to explain. He liked to think his abilities were more inclined for face-to-face diplomacy, not long-distance theater.

Alexander was quiet, only his hand lightly moved across Hephaestion’s clavicle. He always looked like he was in a trance when in deep thought. It was one of the few occasions Hephaestion enjoyed looking at him. Truly looking.

His deep set brow was slightly furrowed, prominent eyebrows slightly raised. His lips were puckered, half open in concentration. He always stuck his chin out when he found a point worth thinking about, and Hephaestion now found himself remembering long lectures in Mieza where he learned the language of deep thought of his lover’s face. It wasn’t the same expression he used while thinking about battle tactics, or when considering some misunderstanding between his men. This was the face of pure abstraction, of mentally contrasting the same idea against different variables. He had always been a deep thinker, but most of the time people around him required action from him. Hephaestion had the privilege of witnessing him like this. Or, as Alexander once said to him, the privilege to _ make _ him think like this.

After a few moments of deep thought, Hephaestion saw something change in his gaze. He had arrived at a conclusion. For a split second, Hephaestion was afraid he might send him back to Macedonia. Alexander could be controlled by his fear, and this… this was a turning point in his fear of losing him.

“We will make our way south,” he whispered, eyes still a bit unfocussed. Hephaestion sighed, glad he included him in that phrase. He was not sending him back, then, “And there will be an impasse, a point where we will find something… not entirely movable,” Hephaestion looked at him intently. He wasn’t sure if he was thinking of the possibility of an impasse, or if he actually  _ knew  _ there would be one. Sometimes Alexander scared him, “And I will need  _ your _ help. I will give you what you need and you will give back more, much more than I expected. And then… everyone will see. They will see…”

Alexander trailed off, eyes glazing over in the low light. He was caressing his clavicle rhythmically, probably unaware of the movement. Hephaestion pulled the King closer to him, face burying into his reddish curls. He was deeply touched by Alexander’s words, even if he wasn’t ready to express that to him. The implication that Alexander thought he could do so much more than what he thought himself capable of made his chest expand painfully. This was not prophecy, Alexander was no seer. This was his  _ love _ for him speaking, exposing to the light a trust so deep he was willing to offer a title to him in the midst of it. 

Alexander trusted him to love him enough to better himself and prove himself worthy.

If this wasn’t virtuous love, Aristotle could fall dead any time.

Hephaestion breathed in Alexander’s smell, holding him tight against his chest. Alexander was now gripping him back, hot breath in the crook of his neck. He understood Hephaestion was not good with words. He had said what needed to be said, that was enough for them both. 

They stayed in each other’s arms for a long time, long enough for the early day birds to finish their song and let expectant silence fall, preparing the stage for the next set of birds to break into song. The sun was rising.

“Would you let me dress you, love?” Alexander’s small voice, the one he used only when he felt either vulnerable or deeply touched, broke the silence. Hephaestion smiled into his lover’s hair, breathing in his scent one more time before answering. 

“Better be fast, Page boy. I’m off to see the Queen Mother with Alexander,” he said in a short, commanding voice, hiding a smile as he pulled away from him and letting himself fall back on the bed, looking up, “You’re going to dress me in bed, I’m not about to help you do your job.”

As Hephaestion saw a laughing Alexander get up from the bed and run mockingly fast to the King’s chests, he knew that even if Alexander had ordered him to go back to Macedonia in order to protect him, he would have defied those orders without a second thought. 

And if that had meant death for defying the King, death he would have received willingly. For now he knew he would never leave his King. A laugh so crystalline and a night so memorable were enough for him to pledge fealty to Alexander.

“Would you prefer the  _ lapis lazuli _ or the blood red cape, Sir?” shouted Alexander with an infantilized voice. 

Hephaestion smiled to himself. 

He would follow him anywhere. Everything else beyond that knowledge was surplus.

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware that only the King had Pages, but Hephaestion is being cheeky with the title, making fun of the idea of making the King his Page.
> 
> Also, I did not use the lover/beloved concepts, I simply used "lover" because I think by this point, the power play between them actually blurred the differences of those concepts. In a simple word, switches lol


End file.
